The Stripper and the Bartender [Victuuri/Viktuuri] (DISCONTINUED)

The air in the FBI office hummed with the unusual cacophony of celebration. Yuuri Katsuki, usually an island of quiet focus amidst the general hum, found himself adrift in a sea of forced cheer. Glasses clinked, laughter erupted, and snippets of conversation about solved cases and impressive agents floated around him.

His crappy Apple headphones, usually a sanctuary, failed to block out the noise. He sat hunched in his bland office chair, a silent observer of the spectacle. The sudden hush, the collective intake of breath, announced the arrival of the silver-haired agent. Viktor Nikiforov.

As the room erupted into renewed clamor around the man, Yuuri instinctively grabbed his wine glass and phone, making a swift exit. He found solace on the cold floor of the hallway, headphones on, Fall Out Boy drowning out the world. The headache began to recede.

"Yuuri!" A familiar, cheerful voice cut through his peace. Phichit Chulanont, his bubbly Thai colleague, stood over him. Phichit settled beside him, and a brief, awkward conversation ensued, culminating in Phichit pressing two hundred dollars into Yuuri's hand for his mother's hospital bills. Yuuri, touched but embarrassed, could only mumble his thanks.

"I've gotta go." He muttered, the evening reminder for the skating arena flashing on his phone. As he straightened his tie, he caught a glimpse of Viktor, lighting a cigarette by an emergency exit, their eyes meeting for a fleeting moment before Yuuri fled down the corridor. He needed to get out, to breathe, to forget the overwhelming reality of his life, if only for a little while.